


Grace for the Road

by cheertennis12



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Those Graces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheertennis12/pseuds/cheertennis12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>another Rollaro-ish companion fic to LucySpencer's "Those Graces"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace for the Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LucySpencer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucySpencer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stories Don't Mean Anything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572354) by [LucySpencer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucySpencer/pseuds/LucySpencer). 



> Lyrics all from “The Outsiders” by one of my favorites, NEEDTOBREATHE.

_{_ _shortfalls and little sins_  
_close calls where no one wins_  
_stand tall we're running thin  
_ _I'm wearing thin}_

_  
_

" _Wow_. What are you--Oh my god."  
  
In hindsight, it may not have been the most tactful way to greet him, in light the recent ambiguity you'd found yourselves in, but the chorus of disbelief slips out before you can even attempt to stop it. But Nick Amaro, standing at your apartment door donning a flannel shirt and suspenders - and that dorky hat that, ugh, reminded you way too much of a recent disaster you’d rather forget - is a far cry from the suit and tie you normally saw him wearing.  
  
You throw a hand over your mouth to prevent any further regret as Nick shoots you that classic wounded puppy look. For all you know, this could be his norm; he was some closeted hipster that only had the opportunity to be unleashed outside of normal working hours. It's not like you'd had much opportunity to learn much about the after-hours Detective Amaro.

"I'm sorry..." You curl your fingers against your lips and offer a shy smile to support your apology. As much as his initial presentation had thrown you off, you had to admit that you liked this softer side of Nick. It was in such stark contrast to the stiff detective you knew that you found it intriguing, almost endearing. Most of your time together was spontaneous. The two of you paired together on a case, transitioning your squad room talk to the bar, some talking shop, and then some not talking at all. The first time was an accident; the second and third, not so much. This whole relationship-non-relationship zone was new to you both, and a bona fide, planned and scheduled "date night" was certainly uncharted territory. Of course, neither of you would ever attach that title to your tonight’s activities, but there was no denying that fluttering feeling in your stomach when he’d proposed _hanging out_ , however ambiguous the invitation was.   


You look down at your own outfit, your typical uniform of boots and leggings and a sweater, and suddenly feel a little insecure at your predictability. You open your mouth and close it again, running your tongue across your teeth as you mentally flip through the assortment of clothing in your closet. “Um, just hang on real quick and let me go change…”

“No!” He exclaims a little more forcefully than he seems to intend, and a flush spreads across his cheeks when he catches himself. “I mean… you look… great, Amanda.” He brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck and looks at you bashfully.

You climb into the passenger seat as Nick cranks the car and merges into the traffic in front of your apartment. “So, do you like alternative music?”

“Alternative music? You mean, like... Coldplay?”

Even in the streetlight shadows, you can see Nick roll his eyes in exasperation. “God, no. _Please_ don’t tell me you listen to Coldplay.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” You smirk, all the while withholding you had the release of _Ghost Stories_ marked on your calendar and were counting down the days until you could pop the CD in your squad car and annoy the hell out of him.

“God. Coldplay is _way_ too mainstream to even be considered alternative. In fact, anything you ever hear called alternative has already sold out.”

“Well, uh, didn’t _you_ just refer to this… whatever we’re going to as alternative?”

“Oh, you just wait.” He removes his hands from the steering wheel and rubs them together in giddy excitement.

_{I'm not leaving without a fight_ __  
I got my holster around my side  
Just cause I'm wrong it don't make you right}  
  


“Can I sit?” You look up to find a friendly looking blonde pointing to the seat beside you. You glance over to the front of the room, where Nick stands with a group of guys, ogling over one of the (many) unconventional instruments that litter the front of the room and much to your dismay, showing no signs of being ready to head out any time soon. 

The show was… interesting, to say the least. Your idea of a concert was tailgating and cowboy boots and Kenny Chesney, but apparently you’d found yet another thing that New York insisted upon doing differently.  

“Yeah… Sure.” You do your best to offer a warm smile as you grab your purse and slide it across the bench closer to you, opening up a seat.

“I’m Kathleen, by the way.” Your seatmate pipes up, sticking out a hand.

“Amanda.” You concede. You’re not one for small talk, ever, but the guise of a friend seems like a much better option than sitting here, pretending to be patient while you wait for Nick to catch the drift that you’re ready to peace out.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Um.. yeah.” You try your hardest to sound enthusiastic. “It was… different, but uh. It was nice.”

She leans in closer, lowing her voice and holding up a hand to shield her words from any nosy bystanders. “Its okay. You can say it was weird. I mean, what the hell? See the guy over there? He’s my—we’re…” Her explanation cascades into a fit of giggles, causing you to miss ***** exactly ***** how she qualifies her relationship with the man in question, but you can only imagine. “I’m all for supporting the arts, I mean, but he plays the _typewriter_. Come. On.”

You breathe a sigh of relief that you’re not the only a little baffled by this whole scene. “Thank God. I thought I was the only one who thought this was weird as hell.”

“Oh, no way girl. Phew. Good. I started talking and realized, oh shit, I hope she’s not some kind of music teacher or—I don’t know, one of those critics who was here to review the show.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. “Definitely not. I’m a cop. I just came with my—with Nick. He’s the one over there, in the hat.”

Kathleen lets out a squeal. “Damn girl! Aren’t _you_ lucky!” You start to correct her, that nope, you’re not _lucky_ , and it’s not really like _that,_ but you figure what the hell, what’s the point. For once, let someone think you’re the lucky one, that your romantic endeavors and your life in general aren’t a total disaster. And much to your relief, she continues rambling on. “So, you’re a cop? My dad was a cop too… well, detective actually. He’s off the force now, doing some kind of consulting shit, but he used to work Special Victims. Did you know him? Elliot Stabler? Oh! Or maybe you know his old partner, Olivia Benson?”

Oh no. Oh no oh no ohnonono. Until now, you hadn’t really given much thought to the fact that you were out, on what you’d been skirting around identifying but was for all intents and purposes a _DATE,_ with your coworker, one of the biggest no-no’s in the book. And your guilt-free dalliance was quickly in jeopardy of becoming a disaster with the mention of the one name that had the power to change everything. Damn Olivia Benson.

“Nope, never met your dad. But I haven’t lived here too long. Transferred up here from down south in ‘11.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d never actually met the infamous Elliot Stabler, although you’d heard quite a few rumors about his legacy circling the precinct over the years. He was a hothead. He went off the deep end after he killed a teenage girl. He and Liv were more than partners, _definitely_ more than partners. In secret, you were dying to know if Liv might not exactly be the token good girl she had always been painted as.

You look up just in time to see Nick making his way toward you with a cartoon grin on his face. You stand up quickly, not even giving him a chance to get within spitting distance before you wave a quick goodbye to Kathleen and nearly run him over as you bolt out the door to safety. 

_{_ _I've been wondering if we stop sinking  
_ _could we stand our ground_ **_}_ **

 The curiosity is all of a sudden _killing_ you – a visceral, gnawing, absolute _need_ to find out. 

The car ride settles into a comfortable silence, after Nick exhausted himself in talking about that damn typewriter, and the individuality expressed at the show, and how well Eric “jammed out” on the Mandolin. You’re not quite sure where he’s taking you, back to your place, or his, or—well, definitely not to his. Because “his place” is currently Olivia and Brian’s couch, and you can’t even begin to list all that would be wrong with _that_ situation.

But that’s not even your concern right now, because your sights are set on something else. You chew the inside of your lip, trying to decide the best way to ease your way into getting Nick to spill what you’re near certain he’s been keeping under lock and key. And what you’ve all of a sudden decided you are _dying_ to know. It’s not that you’d consider yourself an outright nosy person, but okay, the appeal of knowing and being able to freely elicit sensitive information was just an occupational perk, and one that you sometimes had a tough time learning to tamper.

“So, guess who I met tonight…”

“Who? And hey, are you hungry? Damn, I got so caught up in the music that I forgot we didn’t grab food beforehand. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, sure, food is fine. I don’t care what.” You answer his next question before he even has a chance to ask, because you just want to get on with the other morsel of this conversation. “But, uh. The girl I was talking to while I was waiting for you. Her dad is Elliot Stabler. You know, Liv’s old partner.”

You look over, and there’s no mistaking the hint of panic you see flicker across his face. In fact, even in the dim illumination of the outside lights, he looks downright terrified. Which, of course, could only mean one thing: he’s got way more information than he’s offering.

“You’ve met him before, right? What do you think of him?”

“Yeah, he’s, uh.. He’s alright. A little bit of an asshole.” Nick shrugs, and you’re rather enjoying the beads of sweat you see breaking out along his hairline.

“You think she was really banging him?" 

"What? I uh... I don't.. I don’t know.” You watch with delight as the color drains from his face.

“Oh my God! She was, wasn’t she?” You exclaim, clasping yours hands together gleefully. It’s wrong on so many levels for you to feel this much excitement over the discovery of the skeletons in your superior officer’s closet, but oh my God, Olivia Benson screwing her married partner was just too great to be true.

“I didn’t say that! I don’t—I don’t know what she’s doing!”

_I don’t know what she’s doing._ You mull the words over silently, your jaw dropping as you consider the implications of his wording. What’s she’s _doing…_ as in. Doing. Present tense.

“Oh. My. God. Is Olivia cheating on Cassidy?! Oh my god! Oh my—Oh my god!” Your jaw drops in disbelief. This was _way_ more dirt than you’d ever expected to dig up in your questioning, but oh were you loving it.

“Damn it… Amanda… shit, you can’t say anything, okay? _Anything._ ” You’re surprised he concedes this easily. For a man who’s spent such a portion of his career undercover, his poker face needs some _serious_ work. It makes you wonder if deep down, he was just begging you to find out. 

“Okay, okay, but…oh my god, Nick! Come on! Spill!” You bounce excitedly in your seat as Nick whips the car into a vacant spot, down the block from your intended destination of a pizza place or… something, whatever he decided on. Who can think of food at a time like _this_?

“Okay, I don’t know really know _exactly_ , but he’s always over at the apartment when Cassidy is gone. And _only_ when Cassidy is gone, if you catch what I mean. Then tonight, Liv asked me to make other plans [You catch the confession weaved in there, that maybe he only went out with you because his BFF Olivia was otherwise occupied tonight] and wouldn’t tell me why, so I figure she had loverboy coming over.”

“So how long has this been going on?”

The mood in the car changes tangibly at that, and he lets out a resigned sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I don’t know. He got back in touch with her after… everything last summer. I don’t know when all of… _that_ started. She was pissed at him for a long time; I do remember that. He treated her like shit when he left. Just walked out on her. No phone call, didn’t even tell her he was putting in his papers. Nothing. And they were super close, man.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue. A small twinge of guilt tugs at your heart, like maybe you shouldn’t be hearing such personal information about a coworker you just love to hate, but Nick’s done with holding anything back. You’re the first person he’s ever spilled her secrets to, you’re sure of it, and something tells you he’s been craving the day where he finally gets this off his chest. And for him, you’re willing to listen.

“But—shit. I I don’t know what she sees in him. Either of them, really. I mean, Brian loves her alright, but he’s kind of a dumbass. She’s too good for him, really. And Stabler… well, Stabler’s fucked her over one too many times, and I don’t trust the guy not to do it again. And, you know, I don’t understand it, but he makes her happy. But after all of that, after… going into that place to get her out last summer, and the trial, and—I just want her to be happy.” 

He’s visibly choked up on the last few words, his eyes glistening with the tears you never expected to see fall. It’s been such a long year, for everyone. And everyone always has Liv’s well-being in the back of their minds, but the reality is, this was something that reached far beyond her. 

Early in your career, you had responded to what was supposed to have been a routine, cut-and-dry DV call. It had instead ended with blood seeping through the fabric of your partner’s uniform as you watched on in horror. In no way was it _your_ fault—in fact, you doubt the possibility even crossed McCullough’s mind, but it didn’t help you sleep at night. You would lay there, running through everything you’d done wrong, everything you _could_ have done differently to prevent the seven stitches, tetanus shot, and round of antibiotics he had ended up with.

If a simple stab wound could send you reeling to that extent, you could only imagine what Nick was feeling. Survivors guilt was nothing to minimize, and although Olivia had, for all intents and purposes, survived, she was reduced to little more than a shell of the strength she once encompassed. And you’d never taken the time to consider just how much of that Nick had to be carrying on his shoulders.

“Hey…” You shift in your seat so you can see his face, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. His eyes are bloodshot, far beyond what lack of sleep and emotion can explain. Your heart breaks for about the thousandth time this year, and the glue that you’ve used to piece it back together is beginning to lose its fight. “Nick, this isn’t on you. None of it is. It’s not on any of us.” 

The words are as much for you as they are for him.

“She’s just digging herself a hole. It will all catch up with her soon.” He says flatly, his voice somehow void of the emotion it had carried just moments before. The resolution in it scares you.

Suddenly, you’re not so hungry anymore. The car is suffocating, like every bad thought and word and blame is out in the open, bouncing off the interior and there’s no way to escape it. You wish you could do something to take away his pain. 

“Hey, um… what do you say we… just go back to my place and order in?”

_{_ _And through everything we've learned_ __  
We've finally come to terms  
We are the outsiders _}_

“You know you can always stay here if you want to.” 

It’s a dangerous offer, especially one to make while you have one arm wrapped around his waist and his fingers are tracing over your bare collarbone. You’d suggested the once before, but you’d mutually decided against it. There was no need to draw unnecessary suspicion to yourself and the complication that was your non-relationship, but your resolution had quickly backfired when you realized that the decided arrangement would make your boss privy to his every move. 

Times like these, they were few and far between nowadays. Between Nick’s meddling roommates, and your attempts to keep your weekend escapes to Atlantic City under wraps from even those closest to you, it left little time for the two of you to explore the _what could be._ But you still reveled in the opportunity when it came, because something about it made you feel whole again.

“Mmmm, I wish I could.” He sighs, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck, and _ohhh_.

You shift in his arms, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “I’m serious, Nick. Staying with _Liv_? You have… other options, you know?”

“I know. I think…” He pauses, and even through the dim light streaming in through the bedroom blinds, you can see him bite his lip. “I think she likes having someone there. Cassidy is gone so much, and after the trial… I hate thinking of her being alone.” 

It’s far from ideal pillow talk, but you entertain it, because you understand far too well. You’ve had your fair share of shit go down in your life, back in Atlanta, and although you’d never outright ask for a babysitter, there were times that being alone was far too daunting. 

Terrifying, even.

“She wakes up sometimes. A lot, actually. Screaming. Obviously, Cassidy’s usually there to wake her up, do… whatever it is he does. But the first time he was UC and it was just the two of us, man, I just heard her screaming. Scared the hell out of me, really. I rushed in there and I woke her up, and shit. It was awful, Amanda. She was—so I just laid there with her. I mean, not like _that_ or anything, no, but… I couldn’t leave her like that. We just talked, about… whatever, some stupid shit.”

You don’t appreciate feeling like there’s a third person in the bed with you, like there’s an Olivia Benson wedged into what little space there is between two of you. She’s long grated your nerves, what with her model-victim, therapy-know-it-all routine, and how Nick’s allegiance is divided even when he’s tangled in the sheets with you. But you understand it. You don’t _want_ to condone it, but you can.

“Call her.”

“No, it’s—“

“Call her, Nick. Make sure she’s alright, then stop worrying about it. You said yourself, she had plans tonight. She’s probably _fine._ In fact… maybe she would like some privacy.

He stretches out under the covers, his arm reaching down and fumbling for his phone in the pocket of the pants that have long been discarded.  He squints as the screen illuminates, and scrolls through his contacts until he taps his partner’s name. 

You hold your breath as it rings, praying for divine intervention. You’re not ready for tonight to end. 

_"Hey. Liv. It's Nick, I... uh, listen, I'm going to head to the precinct tonight, finish up a few things. I'll probably just crash in the cribs tonight, give you and dumba--I mean Brian... or whoever, I mean, yeah, give you time for whatever you needed to do. So okay, just letting you know I won't be back tonight, so... uh.. hope tonight is going well. yeah. Call me if you—. See you in the morning.”_

_{_ _on the outside_ _, you're free to roam_  
on the outside, we found a home  
on the outside, there's more to see  
on the outside, we choose to be}  


 


End file.
